You Better Run
by Gaia-VoidMother
Summary: Prequel to Bleed Black. This is the tail-end of the fight scene that ends in Buffy's death, and the beginning of Bleed Black. There is violence, suggestive language, a character death and Spike perviness.


She should have run. She knew it now, knew in her bones that this was it. She was done, had been for the last hour at least, and the bleached menace just kept laughing and throwing these earth-shattering punches. How the vamp had gotten so strong was beyond her, but he'd bested her at the high school, and only her mother and a handy fire-axe had saved her life. Panting heavily, she ran through the last cemetery, fighting to keep up with the cackling undead. It wasn't fair, vampires didn't need to breathe, so they weren't bothered by things like muscle-cramps. Her broken wrist ached too. She'd not had a chance to stop and bind it with anything, and every time the bones ground against each other it was all she could do not to scream.

The pale glow of his hair in the distance slowed as he vaulted the fence and ran through the weeds of the parking lot. It was as if he was taunting her, like he had done all night. By this time he could have ended it, or simply disappeared and she'd not have been able to stop him. But he was leading her somewhere, and she had a sneaking suspicion of where they were headed.

It was confirmed when he raced around the corner of a building and disappeared. She slowed, certain now, and approached warily. Something in her refused at this point to break off the chase. It was too late, if she ran he'd only catch her out in the open without a prayer of a chance.

'Should have run, little girl. Din't your mum ever teach you not to follow strange men to their homes? Certainly shouldn't have come here alone. But that's what you Slayer types do, innit? All alone, and then you die.'

She'd run out of quips a few cemeteries back. 'Nothin' to say? Shall I let you catch your breath a bit?' A dark chuckle floated from the shadows, 'No fun when you don't fight back. God it's been fun, hasn't it? Best dance of your short life. Last one too, I'm afraid. End of the line for you, missy.'

'I'm- not done yet. Got enough left- to dust you at least.' Said between harsh gasps this was nowhere near as menacing as she'd hoped it would be. Her wrist was still twingeing and aching, Slayer healing unable to fix a break as quickly as it stopped bleeding. She nearly sobbed from the pain as she brought her hands up again. Buffy was relieved that she wouldn't have to try and hide her injuries when she got home tonight- if she got home. Having her mom in the know had really eased things for her, more than she'd expected.

'Got stones Kitten, grant you that. Almost a shame to snuff you. But I made a promise to a lady. And I keep my promises.' He stepped out from the concealing dark. 'Ready to give it me good luv? Make this a proper contest then?'

Her breathing had evened out a little. Buffy was still exhausted, but she felt her second wind kicking in and she bounced a little, waiting. 'I got all night, you punk reject.' He didn't disappoint, smoothly accelerating to striking distance and beginning the circle of pain they'd spun in since she'd flushed him from the alley behind the Bronze earlier that night. She lashed out first; trying for a decisive blow, but he leapt back with a snicker, taunting her slowed reflexes. Snarling she closed in again, only to duck and roll under the same kick that had nearly broken her sternum an hour ago.

'Got anything else in your repertoire, or are we gonna follow the same pattern all night?' Somehow she found the breath to heckle him again. It just wasn't the same when she had to conserve it all for the fight.

He looked almost impressed, before snapping out a suckerpunch that whipped her head to the side. 'Oh I have all _kinds_ of moves, sweet bit. Maybe once I have you down proper I'll show you how a real man treats a lady.' He leered and smirked at her horrified gasp.

'What, you thought I wouldn't notice? Most every Slayer gets all hot an bothered when they fight. You smell delicious, pet.' Her full body shudder distracted her from his next blow, which knocked her through a large wooden dining table that had stood in the centre of the room. She rolled as quickly as she could out of the wreckage, slightly winded from the impact. Shaking her head to clear it, she glanced quickly around to find him again, barely ducking his straight shot at her chin. In a move that clearly surprised him she put all her weight into a headbutt that caught him right under his ribcage. If he'd needed breath it would have completely winded him. As it was, he staggered back, tripping over one of the dining chairs and landing on his rear.

Quick as a flash she snatched a shard of wood from the floor, and ignoring the splinters that now riddled her hand leapt to catch him while he was down. 'I'd like to stay and chat, really, but I got places to be and people to see.' She brought the makeshift stake down.

It was the broken wrist that betrayed her. As she fell towards him, her hand went out to catch herself for the strike, and having forgotten that she was injured, Buffy was unprepared for her wrist to give way in agony. With a hiss, her strike went high, punching a hole just above his collarbone, making him roar in pain. He vamped out for the first time that night, and grabbed her arms as he flipped them over. Snarling in her face he reared up and back-handed her across the face. She cried out and he did it again.

Dazed, she felt herself slipping in and out of consciousness, a roaring in her ears and a sick nausea in her gut. He'd straddled her hips and she could feel his pelvis grinding down into her when he drew his hand back for another strike. There was a strange hardness against her as he did, and in a panic she realised what it must be. Desperately she bucked up and shoved him with her good hand. Unprepared for the move he lurched, half thrown off of her, and she rolled the opposite way. Buffy scrambled to her feet again and looked around for her weapon, dropped in the scuffle.

Too late, she remembered to keep him in sight, and had barely turned as his foot plowed into her ribs on the side. She heard the snap as at least one gave way, and the next instant her world erupted in red and black flashes. She couldn't breathe. As she tried to draw breath she started to panic when her lungs refused to expand. Her entire torso was sending a flood of pain signals to her brain. As she slumped against whatever had broken her fall, she heard footsteps coming closer. 'That's it then luv? That all you got?'

From what her body was telling her, she'd broken something on both sides, and as Buffy began to breathe again she could hear an ominous crackling as she drew air into her abused chest. She was pretty sure her lungs shouldn't make that sound, ever. * _I'm still the Chosen One dammit. I won't die like this. I refuse to go out on my knees in the dirt_ * Somehow the slayer staggered to her feet. Her stance was a mockery of how she'd begun the night. Blood was trickling from the corner of her mouth with every exhale.

Spike stopped his advance to fully appreciate the picture she presented. God this slayer was gorgeous. It was over. He knew it, she knew it. Part of him admired the hell out of her for standing back up though, even knowing it was futile. He sniffed the air appreciatively. The power in her blood-scent was compelling, drawing him a step closer almost against his will. This was his crowning moment, and he wanted to savour it. 'Look at you luv. Glorious. I'll not forget you in a hurry. Won't make it painful. Tribute to your strength an all that.' He grinned as her eyes promised him death. It was almost cute, she was still all defiant and brassed off, even when they both knew she couldn't do anything about it.

Almost tenderly, he grabbed the back of her neck, trailing his hand there as he circled her. She stood trembling, knees locked and weaponless, as her mortal foe stood at her back. Every sense screamed at her to turn and stake him, turn the evil undead to dust, but it was all she could do to remain standing anymore. He touched her hair, some unconscious impulse directing him to find out if it was as soft as it had looked when it flared out with her every move in this fight. After satisfying his fleeting curiosity, he placed both hands on her shoulders, leaning in and inhaling deeply at her pulse. She shuddered again as he licked at the trail of blood that had marred her California tan. * _Why won't he just get it over with? I'm done. Can't say I'm ready but I always knew I'd die early._ *

'God pet, you taste even better than you smell.' He groaned in bliss as he nuzzled into her neck even more, lapping at her fluttering pulse. She thought she'd scream if he drew this out much longer, but then she heard the bones of his face shift as his demon came to the fore. * _Oh God I'm not ready, I'm not ready at all! What if he turns me? Oh please no!_ *

He felt the crunch and pops of his features shifting, and growled against her throat as the scent surrounding him intensified. This was gonna be _real_ good. Slayer was to human what a fine Islay scotch was to Jack Daniels. There was almost no comparison. Blood was life, but _slayer_ blood was worlds apart from the walking Happy Meals that they protected. With a growl of possession and triumph, he scraped against her pulse with his elongated fangs, once, twice, enjoying the fear ratcheting her heartbeat higher and her pheromones simultaneously warning him off and drawing him in.

When she moaned in fear and pain, he sank his teeth deeply into her artery. The oxygenated blood exploded across his palate like a fireworks display. This was what he competed for. This was why he risked everything he was to come up against these girls. This feeling of power as he held their lives in his hands, and ended them, or not. Of the Slayers he'd faced, two had been worth killing, this making the third. He was sorry the fight had ended so soon. He wouldn't have minded playing it out longer, like the one he'd taken his coat from. But it wasn't to be, what with Dru fading day by day.

Her knees gave out, and he lowered them to the floor, fangs still lodged in her throat. He loved the sound of her heart beating. Every time he took a long pull, the rhythm stuttered, before recovering for a few beats as he swallowed down the heady cocktail of slayer blood and fear. Unlife was fuckin' NEAT. So there he was, The Big Bad, bein'... well. Big and Bad. Fuck it was good to be the Slayer of Slayers.


End file.
